Chapter 3 - The Grave That LiedBy sunrise, Roman had ordered the cemetery gates closed.
Nobody entered.
Nobody left.
He stood before Vincent's grave with Sophia beside him.
Gabriel slept in her arms.
The headstone looked exactly as Roman remembered.
VINCENT CALLAWAY
1988–2015
Roman stared at the dates.
“Open it.”
Marcus looked uncomfortable.
“Sir…”
“I said open it.”
The cemetery manager arrived with trembling hands.
“I cannot authorize this.”
Roman looked at him.
“You can.”
Twenty minutes later, the grave was open.
The coffin was pulled upward.
Roman stood behind the barrier.
Sophia covered Gabriel's head.
The coffin lid opened.
Everyone went silent.
Inside was a skeleton.
But there was something wrong.
Marcus leaned closer.
“Sir.”
Roman stepped forward.
The dental records were wrong.
The body wasn't Vincent.
Roman's face emptied of color.
“Who is it?”
The medical examiner shook his head.
“I'll need time.”
Roman turned away.
Eleven years.
Eleven years of grief.
Eleven years of believing he had failed his brother.
And the body in the grave wasn't even his.
Sophia whispered, “Someone wanted you to believe Vincent was dead.”
Roman looked at her.
“Why?”
She stared at Gabriel.
“Because someone needed the world to believe Gabriel had no father.”
Roman went still.
A phone rang.
Marcus answered.
Then his expression changed.
“Sir.”
“What?”
“The hospital database was breached again.”
Roman's eyes sharpened.
“Tonight?”
“No.”
Marcus swallowed.
“Three minutes ago.”
Sophia's face went pale.
“They're looking for Gabriel.”
Roman took one step toward her.
“From now on, you don't leave my sight.”
A loud metallic crash came from inside the cemetery office.
Marcus drew his weapon.
Everyone turned.
The door burst open.
A man ran out.
Marcus chased him.
Roman followed.
They crossed the cemetery until the stranger jumped the iron fence.
Marcus fired a warning shot.
The man disappeared into the street.
Something fell from his coat.
Roman picked it up.
A photograph.
His photograph.
Taken when he was twelve years old.
He was standing beside Vincent.
Their father stood behind them.
And between the brothers was a woman.
Roman recognized her immediately.
His mother.
On the back was written:
YOU WERE NEVER THE ONE THEY WANTED TO SAVE.
Roman's breathing stopped.
Sophia came closer.
“What does it mean?”
Roman didn't answer.
Because he had just remembered something from childhood.
Something he'd forgotten for decades.
Whenever his father spoke about Vincent's future, his mother would quietly leave the room.
Roman had always assumed she was angry.
But now he remembered what she used to say.
Not in words.
In looks.
In fear.
In the way she watched their father.
Roman stared at the photograph.
Then he noticed something else.
A fourth person appeared in the reflection of the cemetery office window.
The same scar beneath the chin.
The same gray eyes.
Roman turned.
No one was there.
His phone buzzed.
A message.
YOU HAVE 72 HOURS.
Then another.
FIND YOUR MOTHER.
Roman's face went pale.
May you like
His mother had been dead for seventeen years.
Or so he had been told.
